Tooner's Game
by AidanPryde001
Summary: The universe needs heroes, but maybe not this kind. OC, rated for typical flier attitude and lifestyle.


So here I am again, and this is my first foray into the world of Mass Effect. I thought I might introduce the fandom to one of the most volatile forces in the universe, the fighter pilot. Bare with me, and while this is NOT a self insert, I am using a lot of content from my experience as an aviator in the USAF. I'll post a glossary for those who don't speak flight or consume jalapeño popcorn. You've been warned, as this is something from my addled brain that I decided to throw out there for you all in cyberspace to enjoy. Let me know if you like it, and I'll try my hardest to update it regularly, well when I'm not flying or being the base gopher.

Standard Disclaimer: I don't own BioWare or their amazing crafts. I do, however, own the OC and you may use him if you contact me and get a full six weeks of ground school from me on the basics of military aviation. You've been warned.

On with it, then.

* * *

The sound of the GAU-8 Gatling cannon spitting 30 millimeters of depleted uranium death at 3,900 rounds per minute toward the embedded insurgents was enough to make the most battle hardened grunt squeal with joy. First Lieutenant Jason Fisher felt the waves of elation coming from the troops below at the same moment as the sound wave from the strafing run met up with the rushing A-10 Thunderbolt II.

Jason Fisher, aka Tooner, was ecstatic. He arrived in the desert only three days before with his squadron, and already he was thrown into the fight. It was what he always wanted, helping out the guys on the ground, leaving nothing be teeth, hair and eyeballs. Piloting the only flying tank in existence was the primo way to achieve that goal, at least it was the only option that a real flyer had if he wanted to feel the effects of G and have eyes and senses on the ground and in the fight. The UAS guys did a great job, granted, but there is something about having a real brain in the sky above the meat that gives an extra sense of purpose and protection.

Not to mention scraping the deck at 300-500 feet and 300 knots with enough firepower on board to level 10 city blocks. Jason loved the amount of destruction he could potentially dish out on a regular basis. What bothered him at this moment, however, was the incessant decaying warning tone of a missile launch blaring in his headset. Glancing at his caution panel, he noticed the SAM light blinking at increasing intervals and instinctively moved to dump a metric shit-ton of flares.

He felt and heard the explosion of the ground to air missile as it detonated against one of his 50 flares about 30 meters behind his 'Hog. The force threw Fisher hard against his restraining harness and his helmet impacted the glare shield in front of his face. Blinking rapidly, he cross-checked his altitude and CWS panel, noticing no abnormal cautions or warnings. Looking across his instrument panel while climbing, he noticed his GPS was inoperative.

When his attention snapped outside the canopy, he felt a sinking dread. No longer was there sand and arid mountains as far as the eye could see; the landscape changed drastically to portray a vista of rolling brown grass fields and a settlement the likes of which he had never seen. What caught his attention the most, was the firefight going on in and amongst the squat grey and white buildings. pulling a left hand three G climbing turn, Jason brought the Hog around to circle the action.

He could clearly make out the three figures in what looked like full EOD gear running between cover and firing long bursts from their weapons. Their opponents were large brown-colored individuals that possessed a gait that Jason couldn't quite place. They looked like the insurgents spent a night out at some questionable night club drinking and catching all sorts of STDs.

Mentally fighting against the dread and panic slowly creeping into his psyche, he flipped through the radio frequencies, trying to contact anyone from his command.

"RAPCON, this is Tomb One, anybody on guard freq' respond." Nothing but static met Jason's ears. 'Make a decision Toon.' Steeling himself against any further thought, Fisher tuned his transponder to 7600 and turned on an attack vector on the brown-coats. Lining up on the optimal strafe vector, Jason squeezed the trigger on his control stick, loosing 50 rounds the first second of firing followed by 65 the next two. For a full three seconds, 30 millimeters of high explosive rounds tore their way through the opposition, sending bits and pieces of the figures flying in all directions. This attack broke the spell his passing brought to the fight, and the few brown figures turned their weapons skyward, sending hundreds of miniscule rounds at his armored ride. Rolling through the attack and popping flares in a high G climb out, Tooner felt a few of those shots hit, and he checked his eyebrow lights and CWS again. Nothing but a few holes in his fighter, nothing a case of beer and his favorite crew chief couldn't fix. 'Man, I really owe Smith, big time!'

Suddenly, his headset crackled to life, and a voice that was decidedly not his controller came over the comm.

"Unidentified aircraft, you are currently engaged against the Collectors. State your intentions."

'The what? What the fuck are the Collectors? Looks like just some drunk insurgents to me.'

Jason felt put off. "This is Tomb One. I just saw some EOD guys getting shot up by enemy contacts. I had the position, and my orders were to engage targets of opportunity. I thought I was NORDO for a second there. What are my orders?" Fisher felt the seconds go by as he circled the trio of disposal guys, who were looking up at his jet and waving. Well, only one was waving, and he looked as big as two men put together. Jason didn't have time to investigate further, as the voice came back.

"Tomb One, this is Normandy control. Continue to provide CAS for the unit on the ground. Switch to frequency 299.25 and contact Commander Shepherd, team lead."

"Normandy control, Tomb One copies. Wilco." After tuning the new frequency, Jason keyed the mic. "Ground team, this is Tomb One. Any more contacts for me?"

Fisher herd some static, then a baritone voice answered him, "Tomb One, this is Shepherd. Thanks for the assist. We've got a set of GUARDIAN towers in the next clearing we need to start up to blow that ship out of the sky. We could use some cover. Those bastards are crawling all over the place."

Turning toward the new heading, Jason finally could make out the large structure in the distance. A layer of clouds separated in the afternoon sun and revealed a massive rock-like cylinder. Fisher almost opened fire on the massive object, but noticed it was about 5 miles out, and didn't want to waste the rounds. Swallowing the massive lump in his throat, he keyed the mic.

"Roger that Shepherd. Uh, if you don't mind me asking, what the hell is all this?"

A few seconds went by again, before the strong voice came back, "Tomb One, I'll tell you all about it if we can force these bugs off-world. Promise. Now we have contacts to the north of the field. Do you have them in sight?"

Jason took a second to collect his thoughts. What the hell was going on? Bugs? Did he suddenly step into the world of Ender Wiggin while he micro-slept? Before he could dwell any further on that train of thought, Fisher spotted the fifteen contacts at the far north end of the field. He maneuvered to track an east to west line across where the bugs, and he could clearly see how they were bugs now, were advancing against the small squad. Again the GAU-8 Avenger spat uranium death at the targets, and again the insects went flying in pieces. Half way through his roll out, Jason saw two beams of blue light flash off his right wing about 10 feet away.

Tooner noticed immediately the beams were a threat, as they started to melt the tip of the right wing of his Hog. Going evasive and dumping more flares, Jason continued his turn to line up against his opponent, and almost reached for the ejection handles. In front of his nose, about a mile and a half away, was a sight that scared the hardened pilot. A large blue scarab-like insect was hovering about 200 feet above the ground and pulsing with a blue static. Not thinking, Jason armed and fired one of his two AIM-9 Sidewinder missiles at the thing, which took the hit on its armored hide and began a lazy turning spiral toward the ground. At the same time, one of the ground team lined up a missile launcher and was unloading five armored projectiles at the beast. It disintegrated as the last missile hit home, and suddenly, the sky around Tooner erupted in a dazzling light show. The gun towers all around him began firing at the massive rock formation, which rumbled and began to rise from the ground.

At this point, Jason had about enough, and keyed the mic again. "Normandy control, this shit is getting out of hand. Request vector RTB." A second later the voice returned.

"Tomb One, climb and maintain 12,000 at 200. We will pick you up."

"Uh, confirm Normandy, 12,000 at 200... Wait, pick me up?"

Another second, "Yes, Tomb one. Please climb and maintain. Once established, lower your gear and flaps, reduce to 150."

Jason thought that was weird, seeing as he hadn't performed a traffic pattern stall since pilot training. He thought better than to argue, seeing the stuff he just witnessed and complied with the instructions. A few minutes later, he felt a shadow pass overhead, and looked back in his mirrors to see a massive open bay, but looked only about 65 feet wide. Not very good, considering his 57 foot wingspan. Jason closed his mind off of the fact that he was slow and dirty, and instead focused on maintaining his airspeed and altitude. Good thing he finally managed trim control. When the massive ship finally overtook his A-10, he felt the wheels hit the deck and immediately stomped on the breaks and moved his throttle to idle. As his jet cooled down, the door in front of him closed and he felt all the muscles in his body turn to liquid.

"I just got barn-swallowed by a jet large enough to fit two 747 airliners. What the fuck?"

Finally unstrapped from his ejection seat, Tooner began to climb down from his cockpit via the internal ladder on the left side of the aircraft. He took stock of his surroundings as he descended. Leaving his helmet on with the visor up and his mask hanging from its left side bayonet, he looked around the misleadingly large cargo bay of, well it had to be a ship of some sort, the kind from those sci-fi novels Fisher was so fond of. Noticing movement from behind his jet, Tooner turned and rested his hand on the grip of his holstered Colt Commander .45. _Always went into combat with a chest holster. Glad I kept it, even with the added weight and slight discomfort._ Coming down a ramp that he previously did not notice, were three individuals, all wearing various amounts of armor or clothing, in the particularly shapely female's case. _Really, if that was what passed for a uniform in this unit, sign me up!_

The man in the black armor suit that looked like a very sleek EOD get-up moved to the front. He was tall, about 6 foot even, and had dark hair cut regulation short, and piercing blue eyes. He stood at parade rest about four feet from Tooner and apparently wanted to talk. Fisher sighed and took his helmet off. Underneath was a young twenty-five year old man, with short brown hair and eyes. Moving his hand from the pistol's grip, he fished around in his left sleeve's zippered pocket, and produced a pack of cigarettes, and proceeded to light up. He decided to cut the tension in the air first.

"Hell of a pilot you guys must have, picking up a moving jet like that. Shit hot, I say." The dark skinned man in the back laughed and said, "You have no idea. Sounds like we owe you a favor for saving our asses, Mr..." Before the man could finish, the obvious leader spoke up.

"Yes, thank you for the assist. I'm Commander John Shepard, former Systems Alliance and Specter." He made a step closer with a hand to shake, but Tooner cut him off.

"Lieutenant Jason Fisher, sir. Tooner to my flying buddies," He said with a salute. Shepard moved his hand from the shake position to return the gesture, Tooner dropping his salute to extend his hand. The men shook, and Fisher said, "Any place to get some chow on this crate? I'm starving!"

"And sopping wet. First stop for you is the showers." _Ah, the minx speaks._

Tooner moved to the lady and extended his hand. "Ma'am." She looked at him with barely restrained disgust, and he let his hand fall. "Alright, mate. No need to get all defensive on me, doll." Fisher mimicked her Australian accent. Just as the woman started to seethe and a blue light formed around her right hand, Shepard diffused the situation.

"Miranda, stand down! We don't want to injure our guest. Besides, we don't know the entire situation, and killing him won't help." Tooner was glad for the interrupt; seeing such a display was a shock. _Just what the hell happened to earth?_

"That reminds me, what the hell happened to Earth? I was just fighting insurgents in the mountains of Afghanistan one minute, took a SAM pretty close, and next thing I know, I'm here fighting some bugs! Did Ender Wiggin show up from an O.S. Card novel?" That made the entire cargo hold go quiet.

After a few seconds, Shepard broke the silence. "I guess we have a lot to talk about, hmm?" With that, Fisher finished his smoke and deposited the butt in a metal disposal cylinder. "Indeed. Just what the hell is going on?"

Before any of the present crew could respond, a quick rhythmic pounding could be felt against the deck plates, and the large EOD member came stomping into the hold.

"Grunt, not now..." Shepard said, but before he could finish his sentence, the large, thing, removed his helmet, presenting a dinosaur-like lizard face, with large teeth displayed in a grin. It _said_ something the sounded like a bass solo at a rock concert if the listener stood right next to the amplifier.

Tooner was taken aback. "What IS THAT! And is it trying to SPEAK?" He started to reach for his pistol again, but Shepard placed a hand on Tooner's shoulder.

"This is Grunt, and he's a Krogan. I don't think you know anything about where, or when you are. Come on, I'll take you to the lockers. See if we can find you some clothes to change into." Shaken, Jason just nodded. "Yeah... uh, sure."

Apparently, Jason was not in Kansas, or even on Earth, anymore. Shepard found him some overalls to change into, and left saying he would return in about fifteen minutes. He stared at his plate of, well, military rations, and thought. _I am in the future? What. The. Fuck. Well, at least there is a military to report to. Speaking of which..._ His train of thought was broken by the sultry tones of Miranda as she entered the mess hall.

"So lieutenant, I know that you fought in the second Iraq war, and that your unit reported you MIA. Though what remains of the United States is now part of the Systems Alliance, we can get you back in touch with your command and they will take care of you at Arcturus Station."

Looking up at the vision in white, Tooner shrugged. "Well, aren't you eager to get rid of me." He said with a smirk and a slight chuckle. Miranda clenched her fist again and was about to speak, when Jason cut her off.

"I am sorry for my previous behavior, Ma'am. I meant no disrespect. I just haven't seen an attractive woman in ages, and you know the pilot psyche. We tend to shoot first and ask to get out of jail second." He ended his monologue with a salute, which Miranda reluctantly returned after recovering from the shock of such a behavior change. Tooner could clearly see the wheels turning in her head as she contemplated a retort. Instead, after ten seconds, she turned and ran straight into a tall, raptor-like thing.

She mumbled, "Sorry Garrus. See what you can do to keep that jock in line, will you?" She ended her tirade with a friendly pat on the alien's shoulder, so Tooner let his guard down about two more notches. _If that alien, Garrus she called it? Is okay in her books, then I guess I don't have much to worry about._ Jason turned to the tall, thin and very bird-like alien and extended his hand. "Jason Fisher, Tooner to my friends."

Garrus put one of his three right fingers in the air, the universal symbol for 'one second', and then started to punch at a holographic projection on his wrist. After a few seconds, Garrus spoke and a flanging, deep voice came from behind those twin mandibles and sharp teeth. A metallic, synthesized voice came from the glow on his left wrist.

"Garrus Vakarian. Sorry about this, but until we get you an Omni-tool with a translator, this is the best I can do." Garrus finally accepted the proffered hand, and Jason felt an incredibly strong return.

Jason dropped his hand and brought it to the back of his neck. "So, sorry if this sounds bad, but what the hell are you? I've never met anything like you, or that dinosaur Grunt thing down in the hangar." Garrus laughed, and the wrist computer, _Omni-tool_, spoke, "I'm a Turian. And don't worry. You've got a lot of catching up to do." The Turian finished his speech with his mandibles spread wide, in what Jason thought must be a grin.

"Well, it's nice to finally know that we are not alone, and you guys are friendly." Garrus clamped his mandibles shut at that last remark, "Yeah, well like I said, there is a lot you don't know, and I should let Shepard fill you in. I'm not the best a history, but that guy is a huge buff. Anyway, I'm stationed over in the forward battery, if you need anything." He turned before Jason could say so much as a 'good buy'.

Before Tooner could turn back to his untouched meal, a decidedly familiar voice spoke over a PA system. "Lieutenant Fisher, Flight Lieutenant Moreau would like to speak with you in the cockpit." His ears perked up, "Normandy Control? Where are you?"

A second passed, "I apologize for the deceit, Lieutenant, but my name is actually EDI, the Normandy's artificial intelligence." Tooner stood in shock for five seconds, then jumped into the air punching his fist sky, or ceiling-ward. "An AI? Awesome! This future kicks ass!" If anyone were in the AI core at that moment, they would have sworn they heard a pleasing hum coming from the blue box that housed the ship's core program.

Jason's fanboy was suddenly crushed by a new voice coming over the PA. "Yeah yeah, just get up here, man. I wanna talk about that crate you were slugging around in the sky with!" Fisher composed himself, and thought, _Finally, another bro I can relate to! No bull shit._ "Alright, but just how do I get up there?" A groan was his only answer.

* * *

Glossary

CWS: Caution Warning System. A special screen on the instrument panel that displays any malfunctions or damage to an aircraft and its systems

'Eyebrow Lights': Usually a group of three or more lights that indicate master caution, warning, or a fire in the jet. In the case of the A-10, there are three fire handles and a panel of ten buttons right at eyebrow level. Clever, huh?

'G': gravity. When any jet makes a maneuver, or acceleration, it has to counter the forces of gravity on the frame. I could go into it, but if you really want a lesson, PM me and I'll be happy to let you know _all_ about it!

'Dirty and Slow': Refers to the configuration of a jet that has set up for landing, usually with flaps and gear down, and it is slow.

'NORDO': Refers to a malfunction with an inoperative radio.

CAS: Close Air Support

EOD: Explosive Ordinance Disposal. Think 'Hurt Locker'.


End file.
